


In a Day

by tanyart



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Victory of Eagles, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning, an afternoon, and a night. (Based off of Only a Signal Shown by meretricula)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meretricula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/gifts).



> Written back in 2009 for [ meretricula](http://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/pseuds/meretricula)'s birthday, sort of an unofficial sequel to her MARVELOUS fic, [ Only a Signal Shown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/190687). 
> 
> Thoroughly jossed by canon now, ahah.

Most mornings, Granby would wake up without any bedcovers. He usually did not mind, as Australia proved to be the hot, dry country anyone would suspect it to be, except that, along with the blanket, Tharkay took the majority of the cot as well. It was most likely the reason why he would rise before Tharkay, on account of tumbling unceremoniously to the ground until it was more or less a routine for getting up early. This morning, however, Granby awoke to nothing in particular, and was greeted by the sight of Tharkay—or rather, the lack of Tharkay—with the covers over his head so that only a wayward tuft of hair stuck up from the pillow.   
  
A month or so ago Granby had teasingly asked why Tharkay slept with such an unusual habit. “Don’t enjoy having it rain on my face,” was Tharkay’s muffled reply, a sleepy testament of having to live out of doors for so long. It was endearing, even if it meant that Granby would have to wake up next to an enormously swathed cocoon.  
  
He reached over, slowly pulling the blanket from Tharkay’s face; it was a wonder how he hadn’t suffocated himself yet. Granby stared for a moment, then carefully sat up, trying to guess the time by how much sunlight filtered through the closed shutters of their little window.   
  
“Hour?” Tharkay mumbled in a way that meant the answer would make no difference, and drew the covers back over his head.  
  
Despite that, Granby happily answered, “Disgracefully late,” and, against his better judgment, joined Tharkay beneath the blanket. 

*

The knock came when Granby was half-asleep. He laid still, thinking that it was the remnants of a fading dream, but when the knock sounded again, he sat up with considerably more enthusiasm; so much, in fact, that he tumbled off the damnably small cot, dragging the blanket with him. There was an irritated grunt from Tharkay, but Granby was already ducking behind the bed as the door opened.  
  
It was just as much a habit as Tharkay’s need to cover his head while he slept. The circumstances in Australia were nothing short of miraculous, the covert being home for a number of odd misfits—at least what England considered them to be—but both he and Tharkay still acted with extreme discretion, no more than what friendship would allow, and no matter how accepted they were at the Australian covert.   
  
Besides, Granby thought sullenly, if Hunt and Bell can carry on without having to share a bed every night, then there was no reason why they couldn’t do the same, however ridiculously difficult it was. When Laurence entered the room, Granby did not know whether to feel relieved or more embarrassed. It resulted in a queer mixture of emotions that rooted him still behind the bed while Tharkay swung his legs off and sat up.  
  
“Oh,” Laurence said, sounding startled and bemused, “Tharkay? I did not mean to intrude, but it is noon, and Iskierka—“ he trailed off, ending abruptly as details were usually needless when it came to the dragon, “Have you seen Granby?”  
  
“Have you tried his quarters?” Tharkay asked.  
  
There was a pause, then Laurence said, almost gently, “This  _is_  Granby’s quarters.”  
  
“Oh Hell,” Granby muttered when Tharkay prudently chose not to respond. He stood up, glad that he had, at the very least, slept in his breeches. “Please tell Iskierka that I’ll be right on by.”  
  


* * *

  
Very rarely did Granby sleep in so late for reasons that were purely selfish. He berated himself for the rest of the early afternoon, right up until Tharkay drily pointed out that it wouldn’t have done any good for both Iskierka’s captain and first lieutenant to be up and wandering about any earlier, considering last night. For propriety’s sake, Granby made no further comment. Iskierka had graciously accepted his apologies, and said if she had only known that he was with Tharkay, she wouldn’t have interrupted.  
  
“My dear, you did not interrupt anything at all,” Granby said, a little helplessly, but Tharkay laughed quietly behind him and he was grinning before he knew it.

*

Ever since Tharkay was made his first lieutenant, most of their free time had been spent with formal training. Tharkay could not, after all, go around doing things his own way without confusing the rest of the crew, which Granby was still in the middle of assembling as well. Tharkay did well with memorizing the signal flags, formation patterns, and proper commands, since being with the ferals had forced him to improvise most of them. And there was little Granby could instruct on climbing around Iskierka; he had to learn how to maneuver around her spikes and harness himself, though he had caught Tharkay scrambling down without carabiners attached once, and didn’t like to think how Tharkay would board an enemy dragon if the time ever came. The little discrepancies between being a captain and a lover were hard to ignore, and Granby would often look sidelong at Captain Leightley and her first lieutenant, Shadwell, to discreetly observe how they handled it. Of course, they had a familiar and loyal crew, and were hardly scandalous with their displays of affection, no more than what any married couple would do. They seemed to have a mutual understanding that Granby could not fully comprehend, but clearly saw with each command Leightley would give Shadwell, and have him obey with ease and without complaint.  
  
Yet for all the uneasy differences Granby felt, there were some painfully similar ones as well. The mindset of being a lieutenant had come to Granby easily enough, having been raised as an aviator all his life, but Tharkay had surprisingly matched the expectations, though not quite for the same reasons formally dictated.   
  
“A lieutenant’s first priority is protecting the captain,” Granby recited absently over lunch, “and in the event that the captain should fall, and the dragon—“  
  
Tharkay paused from his meal, giving Granby an even look. “John, I am aware of what a lieutenant does,” he said, slightly irritated, “And in the event that the captain should fall, I will simply pull him back up and scold him for being so clumsy.”  
  
Granby snorted, shaking his head, “It was worth a try. I can hardly dismiss you for being insubordinate now can I?”   
  
“No,” Tharkay agreed, and went back to his food.  
  


* * *

  
  
Laurence came to join them in Iskierka’s clearing after supper with a bottle of wine and a brief but entertaining summary of his day with Temeraire. He did not mention the morning events, though he did favor Tharkay with a small quirk at the corner of his mouth for a moment. Tharkay pretended not to see.  
  
The rest of the night was spent playing cards with the dragons. At first they played as pairs, captains with their dragons so that they could handle the cards, except for Tharkay, who played without a partner. Unsurprisingly, Temeraire had been a quick leaner, and Laurence’s string of victories grew longer with each round. Laurence, who was not a bad player himself, suggested they play with mixed teams after their third win in a row. Granby suspected that both he and Tharkay may have looked a touch disgruntled, and Iskierka was significantly more vocal.  
  
“We are _not_  cheating,” Temeraire exclaimed defensively to Iskierka, “It is the  _other_ players who are outmatched—“  
  
“Temeraire, how about being partners with Granby?” Laurence interrupted, then cut short at the implication, looking abashed.  
  
Laughing, Granby said, “If you don’t mind, Temeraire, I would appreciate the help.”  
  
Thankfully, Temeraire agreed, and Iskierka did not mind having Tharkay, but as the cards were being dealt, she blew a puff of steam in Temeraire’s direction.  
  
“You better not make my Granby lose,” she said loftily, causing Tharkay to frown at his hand, no doubt wondering how it was possible to win, and not win at the same time.  
  
And on that note, Granby was pleased to have won the next few rounds—with Temeraire’s help, of course.

*

 “I do believe the game was rigged against me,” Tharkay said, walking into his quarters. 

  
“Why do you say that?” Granby asked innocently, stifling a yawn; the hour was late, and he hoped that there wouldn’t be a repeat of waking late again. He stopped short, almost bumping into Tharkay.   
  
“It was just a thought,” Tharkay said, blocking his way in, “I was quite good at cards prior to this day.”  
  
Granby smirked, attempting to nudge him aside, but Tharkay stayed his ground. “I did not ask Iskierka to threaten you into losing, if that is what you are implying.”  
  
“And yet you did nothing when Temeraire started to win,” Tharkay retorted, relenting enough for him to slip into the room.   
  
“He was very keen on winning,” Granby said, taking a seat on the bed and pulling off his boots. Tharkay closed the door and sat down beside him. The yawn he had been holding back escaped. “You know, we ought to stop playing cards if all we do is bicker and stay up late in the end. Laurence may not even make the effort to shake us awake anymore.”  
  
Tharkay laughed as Granby lied down, not bothering with the bedcovers because, come morning, Tharkay would have them all.   
  
So there was no point, really, to change what would happen in a day, every day. 


End file.
